


Obstreperous

by evilwearsabow



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Cute, First Dates, M/M, Play on words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:09:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3996688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilwearsabow/pseuds/evilwearsabow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am aware of the human predilection to arrive at certain events with a 'date' if this is what you are eluding to.” </p><p>Jim nods, “Right, good, so are you...”</p><p>“No, Captain, I do not believe I am. Furthermore, it is not the way of my people. It is ill advised to attend something of this nature with a 'date' or accompanied with one who is not yours.” </p><p>So definitive, Jim feels shot-down, and why? Spock stated something logically and truthfully. Tradition with him was always such a final thing, written in stone. </p><p>“Of course, Mister Spock, wouldn't dream of doing anything so ill-advised.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obstreperous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plaidshirtjimkirk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/gifts).



Jim's greatest calamity was actually getting a proper word in without staring at the older man in the most dismal and counteractive of ways. Or, turning into a golden bumbling heap of human nonsense that would even turn around the likes of a human admiral, let alone a six foot Vulcan with a very short fuse for the audacity of human affection.

It's gentle stares when Spock is turned away, busy at his station.

It's soft, lingering, glances when Spock had said something that made absolute sense, but then again, rolls over in his mind like mush and Jim can't hardly say anything quite as intelligible. 

Reverting the Captain, the youngest, brightest, in the federations history. To a silent sort of note for affirmation.

Of course, Mister Spock. Why, yes, Mister Spock. Very good, Mister Spock;

No follow up, no conversation.

Jim could very well blame him. 

With a pretty being of the female species. (Or of the feminine variety...) Jim is more inclined to catch his footing, speak with honey coated tongue and topaz sparkling eyes.

And yet, here he is, struggling at the desk in his quarters over something as mundane, as asking Spock to a federation event; not just as his first officer, but, as his date.

He slides his fingers through up-swept hair, rubs at his chin with the deep thought of a man in love. 

A man in love.

So easily in love too, Jim thinks with a sigh. Of course, he's always been so easy to catch, eager to please, and endlessly passionate in his throes. 

Yet he just couldn't put his finger on it, Spock was an entirely different circumstance and of course one would point to gender, race, rank and creed.

To Jim, it was something else completely.

When in close proximity, it was camaraderie, it was lingering bodily heat and the smell of spice and dogwood. 

A blossoming tree he remembers fondly in Iowa, he'd climb them and pick the blossoms. Let the powdery pink drench him in wooden smelling petals. 

Spccks skin was dry, but smooth; grip relentless, sure, and steely. 

To think he could have eyes for someone he would visualize as edges, paper, and order. 

Oh but no, not Spock, not truly.

He played his harp like an angel, and spoke with understanding deeper, so vast, that it would take Jim like a thief in the night. 

Jim's lost, and searching, in his head.

How the hell is he going to breech the subject?

The truth is, he didn't have to.

Just a few days later, exactly 24 hours away from the event itself; Spock brings it up casually after a long shift on the bridge.

“Captain.” 

“Mister Spock.” Jim says as they enter the turbolift, arms strong at his sides. Spock's behind him, an obvious, thoughtful, head-tilt of a stance.

“Are you aware our banquet gathering that we are required to attend, is in exactly 23.4 hours, Captain?” Jim listens to him intently, brows risen in realization of the topic itself.

He had been looking at Spock, but he now faces the door with hesitance in his mind, but nothing readily visual on his face. 

“Why, yes...” A smile at Spock, but the blonde in no-way could tolerate such a gaze so he aims ahead.

“Well, not in such a... precise... sort of knowledge. But I think, you get the picture.” 

“Of course Captain, I was just making certain.” 

A few moments of silence.

“Are you, say, taking anyone to the event, Mister Spock?” 

This time Spock almost looks perplexed, with a blink, and a turn of his head.

“I beg your pardon, Captain?” 

“Well, we all know Archer isn't going to arrive at the dance with his prized beagle; or maybe he will, odd sort of man. I'm asking, if you're going to be engaging of Terran tradition. You know, going to the dance with someone you...” How does he explain this, and why, why did he go there?

“... You know, care about, you're... interested... in? Maybe romantically, or, as a close friend...” 

“I am aware of the human predilection to arrive at certain events with a 'date' if this is what you are eluding to.” 

Jim nods, “Right, good, so are you...”

“No, Captain, I do not believe I am. Furthermore, it is not the way of my people. It is ill advised to attend something of this nature with a 'date' or accompanied with one who is not yours.” 

So definitive, Jim feels shot-down, and why? Spock stated something logically and truthfully. Tradition with him was always such a final thing, written in stone. 

“Of course, Mister Spock, wouldn't dream of doing anything so ill-advised.” 

A bittersweet tone, their lift opens, “I'll see you tomorrow on the bridge.” 

Spock's head snaps a bit, eyes curiously wide. 

Jim smiles a soft little thing, before he's off of the lift faster than one could say 'captain.' 

So it isn't fair to say it was Spock's fault, or fair to be so angry. 

Perhaps he should point that inner force to something useful, but there was no logic where Spock is involved. Jim wants to tug his hair out, he rubs his face in slow circles and stares ahead at the computer screen on his desk.

He even gets a tumbler, some whiskey on the rocks to steady his troubles, wants to talk to Bones, but couldn't be bothered to bother. 

Halfway through a tired sigh, there is a ring at his door, and its one in the morning. How strange.

Jim moves from his leaning position in his chair and sits up a bit straighter.

“Come in...”

“Captain, I am sorry if I interrupted your work.” 

“No, no, not at all... it's just lower ground. A yeoman has clearance for this sort of paperwork.” It's not even on paper anymore, but the Terran's still call it that. Figures. 

“Come, sit, it's really not a problem.” 

Spock looks hesitant at first, but eyes at the chair in front of Jim's station. Setting primly onto the shorter seat. A picture of regulation and posture. 

“Forgive me if I am incorrect in my assessment. But you do not usually drink alcohol when you are working on the mundane. Is there a problem, are you sound of mind?” 

Jim lets out a soft laugh, still playful in tone. “Of course, you'd be the one to pick up on something so trivial; no, my friend, it is definitely not ships business that ails me. Nothing very important that ails me either.”

There's a moment between them, almost of understanding. 

“Again Captain, you must forgive me if I am being obstreperous. What happened earlier this evening has not slipped my mind and after speaking further with Mr. Scott I have been alerted that my behavior could be misconstrued as intolerant.” Spock seems so damn serious about this, Jim has to hold it in so as not to laugh, even a little, and avoid social catastrophe.

“Well, Mister Spock, I hardly would consider you intolerant. Just precise, in your own agenda. A very Vulcan trait that I've come to admire. Wouldn't you agree?”

“Vulcan's desire little impracticality in their actions, being precise is a fundamental behavior necessary for logic to prevail.” 

Jim can't help it now, smiling widely, unabashedly. 

“Well, then we can be precise right now. What did Mr. Scott bring to light?”

“He suggested that perhaps you were bringing typical human social proclivity to light. And that in this regard I had possibly offended you, and further insinuated that you were lesser for your Terran behavior.”

“And you didn't mean to?”

“No, sir, I did not.”

Jim smiles, of course, of course this man comes in here to apologize over nothing serious. Nothing serious at all,

Jim crosses his legs, places his chin in his hand. 

“Spock, I wasn't upset about that. Not at all, not even a little.”

Spock straightens even more at that, how, Jim knows not.

“If I might inquire further...”

“Of course Spock, let it out, there's no wall between us here in my quarters. Just, go for it.” 

Spock nods once, curtly, “Why did you seem, displeased, with my relay of information?” 

Great, well, really, there's no backing down from this. None at all.

“I had intended, to ask you to accompany me at the banquet in question. Mister Spock.” 

A lighthearted, but very knowing, look in the Captains eyes. 

Another moments silence, that was much longer than most. Or at least it seemed this way.

“Illogical.” Spock intones after a flicker of something rolls over in his eyes. Jim just, see's it, and with this one word he already feels deflated; yet doesn't even flinch.

“Captain... Jim... you are already well aware that we are both to attend this banquet. It is already mandatory as requested by Admiral Komack himself...”

“Spock...”

“Furthermore...”

“Spock, no. Not...”

“Captain?” 

“Spock, I asked you, not as your Captain. But as your friend... as a... 'date.'” 

His first officers open mouth snaps shut. 

Jim's mouth goes tight, into a flat line, and watches as the silence stretches into a millennium. 

“As you know, it is not culturally...”

“Yes, Spock, I understand you can't arrive on my arm. It was an open request, I am not entitled to you for dating purposes. I won't throw my weight around for a date, let alone with a person I deeply admire. So, no need for the lessons on Vulcan. I'm sure I know them well.” 

“Of course, sir.”

For some reason, those three simple words added finality to the decision. 

“Yes, well, its very, very, late. I should be getting whatever rest I can before shift starts. Anything else I can help you with?”

“No, no sir, I will leave to avoid further trouble...”

“No, no trouble at all. Good night, Mister Spock.” 

And Spock is gone.

Only to appear in his dreams.

And in his thoughts in the shower.

In his mind on the bridge.

His day reverie on the center console. 

And while he's dressing for the banquet in the ready room. 

When he arrives at the Transporter room, a vision in formal blue standing tall, graceful next to McCoy and Mr. Scott in appearance. Uhura chatting it up with the chief of security.

Before Jim can open his mouth to get them ready for beam down, Spock strides over to him, taking his speech away.

“Captain, I must educate you to a change in our plans. As it is key for a successful command teams progress to communicate efficiently.”

Jim's brows pinch up in confusion. 

“You are not simply a friend, nor acquaintance, by Vulcan standard.” 

Jim blinks, he's overtaken with questions but decides to just let the Vulcan speak.

“In fact, there is no real term for friendship. Not on my planet, not in Vulcan terminology. However, there is a term, you will not find it in our dictionary. A title you may hold and court me in any regard.” 

“Court you, Spock, are you telling me that you can accompany me...?”

“It is precisely what I am telling you, under the premise that I am your commander, and, your T'hy'la.” 

“T...” Jim's stricken with the mere thought of the word, how it's stuck in his eardrums, his lungs, his very essence.

“T'hy'la...”

Something glazes over Spock's eyes, like nothing Jim has ever seen before.

“Yes, Jim.”

“Ah-yes, why, yes, of course. Then, if you may, tell me what that title dictates?”

“That we are to court, that we should not part, that we are brothers in arms, Captain.”

Not a lie, no, not a lie; but Jim wouldn't ever know. Jim would never find out.

Not until Spock wanted him to.

So when Jim and their crew beam to the surface, and his Captain introduces his date;

“Yes, I'm Captain James Tiberius Kirk, and this is my date, Commander and chief of Science aboard the Enterprise. My T'hy'la...” 

Jim would continue with ease, and any Vulcan around them would visibly straighten out. Their eyes of nonacceptance turn to an air that is almost fear.

Spock of Vulcan, has a T'hy'la, and that alone, shouldn't be possible.

But it is.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last friggin minute... pshaaah ILOVEYOU plaidshirtjimkirk my adun'a <3 (It's also unbeta'd trash so... sorry!)


End file.
